


never think

by magicspills



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-04 00:38:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14581125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicspills/pseuds/magicspills
Summary: For a split moment I thought he would pull his hand away and look at me with disgust, but he doesn't. He takes his eyes off from the night sky and looks down at our hands linked together. His hand is colder than I expected, they're more rough than I imagined. But it's exactly how I would imagine holding hands with Baz would feel like. Quiet.





	never think

**Author's Note:**

> I was definitely listening to Never Think by Robert Pattinson when I wrote this

He's doing it again, after I told him not to. He's been like this for two weeks and even though he claims nothing is wrong, something clearly is. I wish I can know what he's thinking. I wish I can go over across the room and take his hand in mine and ask, “what's wrong?”

He won't let me step foot on his side of the room even if I was on my knees begging.

His hair has fallen loosely in dark stands and they brush his shoulders gently whenever he shifts slightly in the position he's sitting in. He's staring out the window, his chin rests in the palm of his hand. He knows I'm watching him, he knows I see him sucking on his fangs when he's thinking. 

“Stop thinking,” I want to say, but I don't utter a word. “Stop thinking, it's okay to not be okay. Just let me help you.” I don't say that either. Instead I just watch him as he stares out the window. 

He's looks beautiful with the moonlight illuminating his pale, grey face. His eyes are half-lidded and he's definitely sucking on his fangs. 

“Stop staring,” he says, finally. 

“Stop thinking,” I retort. Baz lets out a snort, or it could have been a scoff, either of those two. 

“Not everyone has the privilege to do what you do, Snow,” he says, I don't think he meant for me to hear that. But I did. 

I pull myself up from my bed, and walk across the cold, wooden floor. I sit down beside him, I almost expected him to throw me out the window but he doesn't. The moon is still highlighting his face. 

“Snow. Leave.”

“No.” I say and I sit there, I don't know what to do with my hands. My first thought was to hold his hand and comfort but he would probably bite me. I fold them in my lap and I stare at a scratch on the floor. 

We sit there in silence. I wonder what he is thinking about. 

Probably a lot. 

I like to think that Baz is actually a real, soft person underneath the cold, brooding mask he puts up. Don't get me wrong, he's still a prick but I don't want to see Baz as this arsehole with no soul. Baz has a soul, Baz is alive. Baz is sitting right beside me. 

I hold his hand. 

For a split moment I thought he would pull his hand away and look at me with disgust, but he doesn't. He takes his eyes off from the night sky and looks down at our hands linked together. His hand is colder than I expected, they're more rough than I imagined. But it's exactly how I would imagine holding hands with Baz would feel like. Quiet. 

He goes to turn his head away but I stop him by pressing my other hand against his cheek and turning his eyes back to mine. His eyes look silver in the moonlight. 

“I don't know what is bothering you, but I want you to stop. You don't have to constantly have your mind running 24/7, just—let it catch up to you,” I say. I have no idea where that came from. Half the time I can't even read a single sentence without fumbling over my words. 

Baz looks down and I do something I never thought I would do. 

I lean forward and I kiss his forehead. 

I feel him tense under me, but I like this. I like having him close, it's better than having him run off and I'm left wondering what the hell he's doing. This way, I know where he is, and I like it. 

I rest my forehead against his and we just sit there. He doesn't say anything else and I don't want to ruin the moment by talking. I feel him relax against me, his thumb is running shapes along the top of my hand. And for the first time, in the longest time. 

I think. I think this is better than fighting.


End file.
